


A Woman Scorned

by Ruger9



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruger9/pseuds/Ruger9
Summary: This is a rewrite of a prior work. It is the story of Hannibal and Maggie's relationship after Black Day at Bad Rock up until Deadly Maneuvers. Beware sexual content.





	A Woman Scorned

**Prologue – April 1983, Porterville, CA**

“Man, I am hungry. Mmmm, I can just smell a big honking steak with some chili fries over ice cream,” Murdock said, scrunched up in the back seat of BA’s van.

“Chili fries over ice cream, Murdock?” Face wasn’t surprised. Disgusted maybe, but not surprised.

“Oooh, you know where I’ll bet we can get good chili fries. That little café in Bad Rock. My Murdock map tells me we’re only about 10 miles.”

“You ain’t got no map, fool. Just your mind playin tricks.” As usual, BA had no patience for Murdock’s antics.

Spreading a huge map across his lap, Face pointed at two dots on the map, then used a finger to measure the distance. “Actually, BA, it  _ is _ about 10 miles.” Murdock sat back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, triumphant. 

“No.” They all turned to look at Hannibal. He lit a cigar as he continued to gaze forward. 

Face started to speak, “Well, we know they won’t call Lynch –“

“No.” Hannibal spoke quietly but with a clear edge. His team gaped. 

“What?” he said as he turned to them. His eyes bored into Face’s, but the others felt the heat. “Which part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

The guys looked at each other as if their commander had lost a drive wheel, then shrugged. No one broached the subject of food until they were very far away.

**August 1983**

Maggie Sullivan parked her red 1968 Ford pickup in the parking lot of the Blue Dolphin restaurant avoiding the army of valets trying to flag down cars, although not  _ her _ car. Looking at it, they probably thought she was too poor to pay them a tip. In truth, her small-town medical practice was doing fine and the home she lived in had belonged to her parents. She could afford a newer car; the thought made her uncomfortable. Her father, also a doctor, had bought the truck new in 1968 just before Maggie got her orders for Vietnam. He told her he would have it gassed up for her when she returned. She didn’t realize the truck would be there, but he wouldn’t. He should have realized the signs of heart disease. Instead he died of a massive heart attack six months into her first tour. 

Her musings distracted her until she opened the car door and took her first breath of L.A. air. Breathing deep, she remembered one reason she hated the “City of Angels”…Because it smelled like the City of Crap. How did people live here? Traffic was no joy either.

Maggie was meeting an old army friend for lunch, a nurse who now lived in Dallas. She entered the restaurant and inquired if Sarah had arrived. The maître D spoke, but Maggie’s ears didn’t hear. Perhaps it was the strange tunnel vision she experienced while staring across the room at Hannibal Smith and his ever-present cronies.  _ Damn that man is handsome _ . Maggie’s brain refused to focus as those blue eyes made her stomach melt into a pile of goo. Her heart raced, and she felt light headed. He’d had that effect on her the minute her arms encircled his waist looking for weapons. It only got worse when he kissed her, pulling her into him despite her weak protestations.

It was not like her to fall so hard or fast, but after he and his friends had come back to help her town rid themselves of the Barbarian threat, she couldn’t help but have feelings for him. Just watching his brilliant mind work, seeing his confidence as he weaved his plan and led his men to carry it out took her breath away. 

She wasn’t sure why she had expected him to come back, to call, something. Maybe she believed he saw her as special, different from other women. At first, she thought about him constantly. But after six months, she put a stop to it. Maggie had always been independent and self-sufficient, and was damned if she was going to let some man (even Hannibal Smith) stay under her skin. 

His laugh brought her out of her musings abruptly. Now what? Go talk to him? Ignore him? Then like a needle raking across a record album, tunnel vision crashed into reality. A woman, blonde, buxom, young, and wearing a short green spandex dress, appeared as if out of nowhere and cozied herself onto Hannibal’s lap, planting a deep passionate kiss on his lips. What were those, double D cups? Maggie looked down briefly at her (now) inadequate Bs.  _ Well, at least I know why he didn’t call.  _ Bitterness set in. Those years in ‘Nam had left scars on her both emotional and physical. She was no spring chicken either. What man would rather deal with that? Likely that women on his lap probably couldn’t even spell “Vietnam” much less find it on a map or knew what happened there. But heck, can’t compete with Double D. 

Maggie turned and marched from the restaurant in defiance as Sarah approached. 

“Maggie, what’s wrong?” Sarah asked, concern in her voice. Apparently, this was why she never won at poker.

“Nothing. I just don’t like the clientele here. Can we go somewhere else?” Maggie asked, only partially lying. She didn’t like  _ some _ of the clientele.

“Sure, do you like Chinese? I passed a place up the street that looked pretty popular.” Maggie nodded thankfully. As she drove away, her brain told her she would purge her feelings for Hannibal Smith, or at least bury them so deep no one would find them. No matter how much her heart protested.

**February 28, 1984 – 1:00 p.m.**

Maggie Sullivan put down the phone. Whoever this Tawnia Baker was, she seemed in earnest that Hannibal and his men were in trouble. Someone took them out one by one, Hannibal the only one left standing. Or rather lying...in a seedy motel room unconscious and in pain. Her combat training kicked in and pushed aside any feelings in order to do the job. How many times had she lost friends under the knife, men whose wounds were too severe to even begin to treat? If she had allowed emotions to enter the arena, it would have paralyzed her. She used that same ability now. 

The feelings she had buried began to bubble up, and SLAM! Right back in the box Maggie! You have work to do! OK, think. Based on the symptoms, it is probably poison, or a sedative. Hoping the latter. There were too many poisons available to even guess which it could be. Gathering what she could, she hopped in the truck and headed out. She turned the music up loud, to stop her brain from thinking about the man she was going to help. Within 40 minutes, she had arrived at the motel room. God, he looked so helpless. The goo in her stomach returned. She slammed that back in the box too and got to work. 

**February 28, 1984 – 7:00 p.m.**

Maggie barely ate the dinner Murdock and B.A. had prepared. Even barbeque ribs couldn’t entice her appetite. The incessant back and forth between the team had been fun earlier, and day the Barbarians came to town, but was now tiresome. At the large wooden picnic table, Hannibal sat next to her, but barely spoke; he seemed miles away. She begged off dessert and took a walk in the woods, stopping to sit on a rock by a large pond. Crickets and frogs began their evening symphony. She tried to focus on that and the beauty of the place, not on the fact that this cabin where they routinely trained was a mere 40-minute drive from Bad Rock. That at any time and with very little trouble, Hannibal could have called on her, without concern that anyone in her small town would out him. Suddenly she heard footsteps and knew without turning around who they belonged to. 

“Maggie?” Hannibal called softly. “Are you here?” Maggie debated answering, although she suspected his finely-honed instincts betrayed her location.

“Yes” she answered, hoping to ban emotions from her voice. Maggie heard his footsteps behind her, and shivered suddenly, not sure if from the night air or his presence. Hannibal set his jacket over her shoulders, then sat beside her, allowing some distance, as if he knew that’s what she wanted.

“You didn’t eat much. You seem distracted. Are you OK?” Hannibal seemed genuinely concerned. She said nothing.

Hannibal pressed. “You know, we owe you a debt. None of us would be alive right now if you hadn’t come to help me.” 

Maggie’s brain tried to stop her mouth with no success. “Well, I guess that’s my role now? I mean, I’m no blonde 24-year-old with big boobs but I guess I’m good for something.” 

Hannibal’s whole body pulled back as he eyes widened slightly. The vitriol surprised her, but she continued, more evenly, “40DD, blonde, Blue Dolphin restaurant.” She waved a hand down her body. “Me forty...something. Hell, why consider me with Miss World on your lap?”

“Is that what you think? That I didn’t contact you because I wanted some bimbo?” Hannibal asked, apparently offended.

“It’s fine because we knew each other for, what, 10 minutes?” Maggie went for confident.

Hannibal smiled, that goddamn smile, with a glint in those eyes, eyes she could get lost in. 

“Something like that,” he said, his smoldering scrutiny made her stomach clench. It reminded Maggie of their conversation at her house, just before he kissed her, sending her world spinning.  _ Not happening Maggie. Stay the course. _

She turned away from him to gain control, and he didn’t pursue. Finally, Maggie couldn’t stand the silence. “Well, good talk Colonel. Next time you need my medical prowess, you know where to find me.” She got up to leave, flee really, when Hannibal stood and grabbed her arm. She glared at him, but just a look into his blue eyes disarmed her. Hannibal’s hand traced down her arm lightly, just a moment but it alighted nerves across her body. Then it was gone. Like a shot of fire through her, Maggie pulled away in retreat, but backed into a large oak tree. Tactical error; now she was trapped. She leaned casually against the tree as if unconcerned, her heart pounding. She needed to regain her footing.

“Honestly, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself for believing you felt something for me. Maybe all your female clients swoon for you. The hot ones end up on your lap; the rest of us you kiss and shove in a closet.” The memory made her quiver.

“I…,” Hannibal stammered, “That’s not fair! And yes, I like hot women. So?”

Maggie had a wretched epiphany. “You don’t respect women, do you?”

Hannibal shrugged. “Women aren’t made like men. We do different things. Men go to war; women….”

“Are for the purpose God intended?” Maggie finished, sarcasm blatant. “Cooking, cleaning, sewing…. making babies.”

“When  _ you  _ say it, it doesn’t sound so good,” he said, smiling weakly.

“It sounds worse to me,” she countered, the corners of her mouth tugging upward a tiny bit. “Let me see if I have Hannibal Smith’s non-fugitive life plan correct. Survive ‘Nam, garner a few medals along the way; enough medals to move up the ranks quickly, to General if possible.”

Hannibal massaged the back of his neck as if pained. 

“As a high-ranking officer, you would be expected to marry someone respectable, hopefully connected. Someone who could join the wives club, host parties, pop out a few babies, run the base PTA.” She pretended to shudder, “discuss inane topics with other officer’s wives at said parties and PTA meetings.”

Maggie smirked as she saw Hannibal shift uncomfortably. She moved into his personal space a bit, her tone smug, “Someone you would have very little actual contact with except for required ‘marital relations.’” She pulled back and leaned against the tree, arms crossed in victory. “How am I doing?” 

Hannibal looked sheepish. “Pretty well actually.”

Maggie coughed to cover a forming smile, then became serious. “So despite the fact that I did ‘go to war’, you probably don’t respect me either.” 

Hannibal’s head jerked up as he met her eyes; she caught her breath.

“What?” he asked. “How could you even think that?” He held her gaze, as his hand almost caressed her face. She choked down a moan of desire. Then he looked away. “You’re different, you know.” 

Maggie couldn’t help herself; the anger came unbidden. “How, exactly?”

Hannibal laughed, and her anger turned to fury. 

“This is funny to you?” To her chagrin, the flare of rage lit a fire that almost consumed her, and ignited a blaze in his eyes. 

“Sure it is. You’re worried about miss Double D? I wasn’t even attracted to her,” Hannibal said in a low growl, “Or most women really.” Maggie tilted her head, eyes squinted. Their heat dissipated momentarily. 

“No, not that.” Hannibal seemed self-conscious. “What I mean is,” Hannibal faltered, “Okay look, I like sex, I need women for sex, I date women for sex.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Not helping your cause here.”

His anger returned. “Okay, yes, I use women. Happy? But I’m not attracted to them like I am to you.”

Her breath caught. Did he really just say he was attracted to her? Maggie’s eyes raked over his body, her eyes lingering on his groin. Were his jeans bulging? The thought sent her careening toward the edge.

Hannibal leaned closer, his voice low. “Look, I was impressed how you handled not only B.A.’s injury, but how you stood up to him as a patient.” Hannibal smiled conspiratorially. “He’s a lousy patient.” 

Trying to maintain emotional space, Maggie gave him a wry grin. “No really? You know after surgery, I was going to set him up with Mary Poppins.”

Hannibal snickered softly, then became serious, his voice sultry. “And then you stood up to me, which most people don’t do.” His proximity made her heady. “But the thing that worried me was when you pulled the gun off me in your living room. I wanted to throw you on the table right then and have my way with you, Face and the Sheriff notwithstanding.” The image almost made her faint. 

He moved even closer his breath dancing over her cheek. “When I told you the last thing I wanted was to put you in the closet, I really meant alone.” 

Her body reacted to his scent as if drugged and her face flushed.

“I wanted to slowly pull all your clothes off while kissing every single part that I exposed. We had the military up our butt and all I could think of was yours.  _ That _ scared me.” 

Maggie’s chest tightened and her voice cracked. “So, you’re telling me you didn’t call or come see me because you were scared?” 

“Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” Hannibal replied, his tone biting.

It sounded ridiculous that anything scared Hannibal Smith, but she could see a struggle inside him. 

“I thought of you every day after Bad Rock, that kiss, how you felt in my arms,” Hannibal’s voice thick and halting. ”We’re on a mission and instead of coming up with a plan, I envisioned making love to you, having you anywhere and everywhere in that house, in the woods, making you scream with pleasure.” 

Hannibal’s eyes wandered, lust in his eyes. Maggie stole a glance; his jeans were bulging. Warmth between her legs competed with her molten stomach. She badly wanted to scream for him. 

Hannibal’s posture changed, his eyes cooled. He leaned on the tree, arm outstretched, head down, as if to block her view of his emotions.  _ Always in control _ . Whatever he needed to say, he would finish. 

“Desire isn’t the whole story,” Hannibal said, his voice intimate. “I knew I could connect with you on another level. I wanted to hear your experiences in ‘Nam and to tell you mine.” He sighed deeply. “I wanted to know everything about you. That is so different from other women.” 

He lifted his chin and looked at her intensely. “I knew if I went to see you, it would be all over. My focus would split, and that could have dire consequences for the Team.” Forehead against hers, he stroked her face. Maggie felt him tremble; she could barely breathe. 

He paused before speaking. “To be blunt, Miss Double D was one in a long line of bimbos I had, trying to forget you existed.” His voice fell to a whisper. “It hurt you. I never wanted that.”

Maggie’s mind and heart raced. This was what she wanted to hear; well most of it – he could have deleted the part about the bimbos. Now what?  _ Now you’re vulnerable again, you idiot _ .

Hannibal pressed his body lightly against her, then harder, kissing her deeply. Maggie melted between him and the tree hard against her back. Then he spoke, his voice husky and raw. “I didn’t know until now how much I still wanted you,” he murmured. “I want you Maggie Sullivan. All of you.” 

She felt him grow harder as he began to nuzzle her neck. Maggie moaned softly; her hips unconsciously gyrated against him. Her brain tried to stay on task, needing to understand his intentions beyond just having her now. Fear enveloped her. A one-night stand with someone she could so easily love would devastate her. Her body didn’t cooperate; it opened up to his every touch.

As if he sensed the war that raged in her, Hannibal whispered “I want all of you. Your body, your mind, your soul. Not just for today.” His fingers confidently unbuttoned her blouse, covering the flesh he exposed with wet kisses.

“What about the Team? Your focus?” she whispered bitterly as her breath became faster. Her body betrayed her, arching to give him free access.

Even with eyes closed, she could feel his famous Hannibal Smith smile. “I’ll just have to put my big boy pants on,” he hissed. “Or, you could pull them off. Either way...” 

He slid his jacket from her shoulders and laid it on the mossy ground, then brought her down onto it. He leaned on an elbow as his other hand roamed, liquifying her. Gaining sudden strength, Maggie reached up, desperate to unbutton his shirt, to feel his skin. He pushed her arms down, pinning them as he pressed against her. “Later,” he breathed, as he toyed with her breasts through her black lace bra. 

”Oh God,” her voice cracked as he teased, then he reached back with one hand to unhook and remove her bra.  _ Like a pro _ , came the thought, before his mouth on her nipples forced other thoughts to flee. He sucked each one hard, then ran his tongue around in circles, producing even more warmth between her legs. 

She wanted to plead for mercy; the onslaught of fire caught her off guard. Maggie gasped as his fingers rolled her nipple, then grazed feather light as he left her breasts for better things. Hannibal traced his tongue down her taut stomach to her crotch, breathing heat through her clothes while unbuttoning her pants. Her legs naturally parted, desperate to feel his mouth on her even through the clothes. Hannibal dispensed with her pants, then sucked through the panties, eliciting a deep moan. Her legs opened further as moisture pooled.

Sensation overwhelmed her, almost painful in the desire to have him inside. But he didn’t hurry; his fingers stroked her matching black lace briefs, then dipped underneath, just grazing her.  _ Torture.  _ She desperately rocked her hips toward his elusive fingers.

Hannibal’s tongue replaced fingers as it traced the inside of her panties. She needed them off. Maggie moved her hand down, but he pushed it away as he continued to lick her edges. She almost begged, anything to relieve the excruciating ache for release. Hannibal sensually kissed the insides of her thighs as he slowly removed her panties, then spread her and sucked her clit, hands stroking her thighs. Maggie’s back arched as she whimpered for more. He alternated between probing deep inside and licking her folds. Anguish to have all of him ravaged her.

Hannibal shifted suddenly; his head moved up toward her face. She could smell herself on him, a deep blush formed on her cheèks. His ragged breath close to her ear. “Do you want me inside you?” 

She almost sobbed as his fingers went into her; she gyrated against them, needing him deeper. 

"Mmmm," he moaned, "So warm." His fingers continued to probe. 

_ Please _ her mind implored. She felt loss as his fingers left her, then heard his zipper. Released from its bonds, his erection pressed hard against her bare stomach. Maggie's senses exploded. She reached for it, her need to touch him, to have him almost unbearable. 

“Uh uh,” he growled, shaking his head, mischief in his eyes. He slapped her hand lightly and pressed himself closer. "Tell me what you want," he ordered quietly, "Say it."

“Do you want me to ask, or beg?” His smile widened at her attempt at bravado, but he didn’t answer. She moaned as he teased her entrance, her hips moving to meet him. “Please, I want you inside me. Please.” 

She felt him fumble for something; she moved to block him. “I can’t have children. Unless you’re worried about disease…” Without warning, he plunged deep into her. 

“Dear God, Hannibal,” she cried, the sensation carnal and raw. His slow thrusts tormented her. She groaned, the ache to go faster, to climax too intense. She lifted up and pulled him toward her, craving swifter rhythm. His pace increased but still too slow to make her come.  _ Please, please _ , her mind screamed as her body writhed in pleasure and agony. Then his thrusts came faster, and she moved to meet every thrust, the intensity building; every nerve ending screamed for release. The waves of pleasure hit her. She screamed his name. His frenzied thrusts pounded her until release. His forehead against hers, breath still heavy, he whispered her name. 

Still gasping for breath, they lay together, his lips brushed against her neck.  _ He needs time to compose himself,  _ she thought.  _ Always in control, even here. _

Leaning on his arm but still close to protect her from the chilly night, Hannibal finally looked at her, his face showing intense emotion. Too intense; Maggie fought back tears and pulled him close, desperate to hide her feelings. Hannibal kissed her passionately for what seemed like forever, then nuzzled her neck. Tears finally in check, she pulled away. 

Hannibal looked at her, his expression a mixture of deep caring and mirth. “Wow” he mouthed silently, then he grinned. “I want you,” he said, his smile getting wider. 

She grinned too. “As a doctor, I know that’s not going to happen for at least a couple of hours,” she said wickedly.

“Well, as I always say, I have a plan.” He was definitely ‘On the Jazz’. 

“If it involves anything like what you were doing with my lower parts,” Maggie laughed, “I think it’s a great plan. But, please, inside the house. You might like the hard nipple look, but I’m cold.” 

Maggie and Hannibal sat up and started to dress. They both looked at his jacket and grinned. That would definitely need a good cleaning. When they were ready, Hannibal stood and put his hand out to help her up. Her normally independent self would have refused, but as she looked at him, something made her take his hand. Hannibal pulled Maggie into his arms. “I wasn’t lying about wanting you. If you’ll have me. It won’t be easy. But I’m not going to run from this anymore.”

Now it was Maggie’s turn for a big grin. “You know, I’ve wanted this since I met you, so all I have to say is…I love it when a plan comes together.” Hannibal smiled and put his arm around her and together they walked toward the house. As they got close, Maggie could hear B.A. yelling at Murdock as Face intervened. She was certain with Hannibal came the rest of the team; they never seemed far apart, and that was okay. At least life wouldn’t be boring. As they came up to the house, Hannibal pulled her closer as if claiming his property. Maggie sighed. Yes, she did love it when a plan came together, and it had. Hopefully forever, but at least for now.


End file.
